


A Game of Pretend

by hakuzo_k



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakuzo_k/pseuds/hakuzo_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"America finally realizes that Arthur is in love with him." England → America, ambiguous relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5861847#t5861847  
> Fill: http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/78769.html?thread=508694961#cmt508694961

To others, was this something so easily seen? So simple? It’s hardly anything simple. I don’t understand why they say it was simple. It’s a complex spell I let ignorance deal with - invisible, yet pronounced - between us.  
  
I now understand certain meetings that have confused me or, to his dismay, humored me in the past. His stuttering ( _“I’m cold”_ ), flushes ( _“It’s hot in here”_ ), withdrawals ( _“Don’t touch me, idiot”_ ), tears ( _“Dirt ‘n my eye”_ ), and drunken spouts ( _“It’s all your fault”_ ).  
  
In the end, I still wonder how it is my fault. I am myself. I didn’t recognize what was happening until it all just clicked that day.  
  
  
  
I had one hand propped on the conference table to support my head up, the other rested on my right thigh.  
  
I felt a clammy warmth rest atop of that hand.  
  
His hand was placed on mine. My heart skipped a hard beat - missing its rhythm and it pounded hard against my ribcage. I chanced a glance down to see, to make sure it surely wasn’t his hand, but it was, and I was at a loss for words. For a few moments, we remained silent - I hardly sucked in enough air to breathe, almost choking.  
  
  
  
He invited himself over. I typically don’t have any objections to it and honestly his company isn’t bad on a good day. (It was a good day because he already had his baking supplies with him, intent on making something as compensation for coming unannounced.)  
  
I laughed when I saw his cloth bag full of the baking ingredients. He stomped on my foot upon entering, bristling and scolding my manners. I was tempted to bite back, but he had already disappeared inside.  
  
Sighing, I softly shut the door, following the sound of banging cabinets in the kitchen. He had already pulled out several mixing bowls, a whisk, and measuring cups and spoons. I stepped forward, about to bellow out my comeback, but his face turned slightly to his cloth bag to remove the rest of its contents. His eyes flitted. He wore no smile, but with many years of knowing and trying to analyze him, it was genuinely worn in his eyes. In that moment, I caught and understood something I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to ever know.  
  
His bites were his front, his way of coping and dismissing me from finding out.  
  
He was in love with me.  
  
Blanching, I fell into the doorframe, surprising me back to the present. He flinched himself, about to turn around. But I already left. I plopped onto the plush armchair in the living room. I threw an arm over my eyes, releasing a loud breath.  
  
“What’s wrong with you?” He followed after me, sounding harsh and alarmed.  
  
I shrugged my shoulders, something he always hated, and he chided me for it. Then I laughed abruptly, tossing the arm off my face. Was it funny or was it my nerves? I opened my eyes and saw that he was clearly unsettled.  
  
So I slapped on a smile, void of the usual contamination of smugness and spirit. “You had a funny face when you were taking out your supplies.” This was for him. The tenseness in his shoulders lessened and he cussed at me before stomping off, promising to burn the scones.  
  
I watched his retreating back, staring into the hallway long after he was gone.  
  
How long has he been doing this?  
  
How long will I be playing along?


End file.
